Page 119 of PS: I Hate You
“Maddie?” Through the phone, I hear the smile in his voice.
“Hey.” I sigh in relief from the simple fact that I was able to reach him so quickly.
“What’s up? Is something wrong?”
Yes.
“No. I just have to do something tedious and annoying”—and potentially dangerous—“for the next twenty minutes or so. Are you busy? Could you entertain me?”
He chuckles, and I luxuriate in the sound. “Sure. I’ve got twenty minutes. How am I supposed to entertain you?” There’s the sound of a door closing on his end, then Dom’s voice lowers an octave. “Do you want me to describe what I’d do to you if I was with you right now?”
My heartbeat spikes and my breathing with it. Not a good idea.
“Sorry, that’s a littletooentertaining.” I pull open the stairwell door and grimace at the cement steps. “Could you sing?”
“Maddie.” He groans my name and even though it’s in exasperation, I still love the sound.
“Come on,” I plead. “We both know you have a rock star voice. I won’t even set the playlist. Sing whatever you want.”
“Hmm. Whatever I want?” He pauses. “Fine. When should I start?”
I stare up at the steep stairs and set my foot on the first. “Now, please. And I’m not going to be able to talk while I’m doing my tedious task, so you just keep going until I tell you I’m done.” I mute myself, so he doesn’t hear me when the inevitable panting starts.
“This sounds like a prank. But I’m trusting you, Sanderson.” Dom clears his throat. Then the amazing man starts singing “Death of a Bachelor.”
Of course. Josh loved the angry punk girl music, but Dom always leaned into the emo boy bands. In high school, he tried to comb his dark hair over his forehead and eyes like Brendon Urie and Gerard Way, but the strands constantly curled in a charming swoop.
I guess he continued to listen to his favorite band throughout the years.
I start my climb with a smile.
But inevitably it melts to a grimace, and eventually my mouth merely sags open as I pant. Dom’s voice helps take my mind off the tightening in my chest, but no matter how amazing his serenading is, he can’t sing breath into my lungs.
On the seventh floor, I’m forced to sit down and take a puff of my inhaler. As I give my lungs a break and listen to Dom sing more Panic! At the Disco, a guy in a suit literally jogs up the stairs, passing me by with barely a glance.
His ease taunts me, but I push my envy to the side as I rise to my feet again.
Fifteen minutes until my meeting and five more flights.
Dom moves on to “High Hopes,” and it’s like he knows exactly the boost I need.
When I reach the floor The Redford Team offices live on, I’m gasping but still breathing, and I’ve got five minutes to try and regain my composure before walking into the conference room. Before exiting the staircase, I unmute my phone.
“Hey,” I wheeze, my throat expelling words like a punctured balloon. I wince at the tell, and Dom’s abrupt change in tone.
“Maddie?” No more playful singing. “You sound out of breath.”
I cough out a chuckle, glad he’s not here to see how flushed and damp my face is. Good thing I wore black today, because I can feel sweat pooling in my pits.
“I’m fine.” My voice sounds a touch better. Not much, though, and Dom can tell.
“What did you just do?”
“It’s okay. Just, the elevator is broken at my office. I had to climb some steps.” Look at that. Managing multiple sentences. I’m basically good as new. I check the time on my phone. Three minutes till the meeting. “Thank you—”
“How many floors?” His voice is ice. No more of the humor and crooning beauty of his singing.
“Not too many.” I hold the phone away as I drag in another ragged breath, then press it back to my ear. “I’ve got to get to a meeting. You were great. Thank you.”